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babystrcandy · 2 years

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matilda (pt. 2) | myg

summary: Loneliness had always been a constant for you, haunting you like a ghost; until your older brother’s best friend, Min Yoongi, came into your life. You both promised each other something back then - you’d always have his support and he’d always have yours. But with time and age, you weren’t sure how much that all still stood to be true.

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | brother’s best friend au, f2e2f2l, slice of life, angst, fluff, eventual smut word count: 15.5K warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, unrequited love (?), a whole lot of even more pining, min yoongi and his hair colors *wink*, heartbreak, alcohol usage, unsupportive/neglectful parents, reader is yoongi’s #1 supporter, she loves him so much it hurts, angst angst ANGST (oh my god the angst), seokjin and hari highkey being the best characters, ripping off love rosie because that movie is a core memory, oh and twenty five twenty one because it haunts me, fights (i’m sorry), i think that’s it but if i missed anything pls let me know, hope you enjoy <3

chapter two: you can let it go ( ← previous | next → )

WHEN YOU WERE UNFORTUNATELY seventeen years of age you finally realized boys were the bugs you had originally made them out to be . . . all thanks to Min Yoongi. Your feelings for him had made you sick, your stomach churning every time you saw the pictures your brother would upload of him and his friends losing their minds at college party after college party. And in every picture, you’d see a new girl glued to Yoongi’s side.

For a while, you could handle the way your heart ached when you'd catch a glimpse of those pictures all over your brother and his friends’ social media. But that was because it felt distant, manageable. You could handle that.

What you couldn’t handle was the call you received from Hari one February morning.

“I didn’t know how to tell you . . . but . . . Yoongi has a girlfriend,” Hari’s voice came through the phone in a quiet murmur almost being muffled by the static of the connection.

You felt your heart flatline.

Yoongi has a girlfriend. The words echoed in your ears even long after you had bid your friend a farewell and laid down in your bed for the night. Those four words seemed to haunt you.

Granted, you knew you should’ve been over this stupid thing you had for Yoongi a long time ago. You had hooked up with a couple other boys at stupid parties since he’d gone to college, trying to distract yourself from the very obvious void he had left you to deal with when he moved away. And it had almost worked despite how awful it made you feel afterward (which you tried to ignore). You thought it was working. But then Hari called, telling you the news she had heard from Hoseok, and you suddenly felt ten years old again, seeing Yoongi walk through your front door for the first time.

You knew it was bound to happen. Yoongi always had this charm about him. He’d always done well to find someone to take to school dances or random movie dates, but he’d never gone so far as to have a girlfriend. He’d told you he much preferred to be left alone. (In fact, if you recalled correctly . . . he once told you that you were the reason he'd been able to open himself up more to people.)

He just isn’t a girlfriend type of guy, your brother had offhandedly remarked to you one night when you guys were younger.

But you hadn’t seen him all year. You knew Seokjin and Yoongi had decided to room together, planning to get a place together with Hoseok once the boy graduated that year. So when Yoongi didn’t join your family for your annual Christmas dinner that year, opting to stay on campus, you just guessed that Yoongi was busy with school. But now, you supposed he had stayed to be with his girlfriend . . .

Yoongi has a girlfriend.

The words echoed in your head again.

You couldn't help the sobs which wracked your body in the minutes to come. You just let it consume you. For the first time in your life, you let yourself feel the heartbreak you’d been feeling since the day you met him. He’d been slowly breaking your heart for seven years now, and worst of all, you only had yourself to blame. You couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault, it was yours. You hadn’t given up on him when you should have. Even when he showed you again and again that what he felt for you was purely platonic, you still had hope.

Your hope was gone now, fizzling out into smoke like the fire which used to ignite your heart.

And as the months passed, the fire had died out completely.

You were nothing more than ash now.

The next time you saw Yoongi, you were a senior in high school. He had been home from college. He’d come with Seokjin briefly, but you only saw him when he was leaving. But you had seen him, stepping into his car, his eyes locking with yours.

He looked different now—older, even. His eyes seemed wiser, and his hair had been dyed burgundy. Maybe he was different. It made your heart swell, but you didn’t move from your spot in the doorway. He hadn't moved either.

Neither of you advanced to greet each other.

You both had seen the other.

It was fleeting, but it was enough.

You had smiled.

Yoongi had smiled back.

And then he was gone. You stood stagnant right where he left you.

You didn’t see him for the rest of the year.

The first face you saw as you walked out of your school, dressed in your graduating cap and gown was none other than Min Yoongi. You hadn’t been looking for him. You didn’t even think he’d come. But there he was—his hair a little longer now, styled, and blonde. He wore his usual attire of an oversized shirt, jacket, and baggy pants, not bothering to dress up for the ceremony. He looked exactly as you remembered him, except, you know, the hair. (You ignored how much older and mature he looked now.)

Except, this time when you saw him, you weren’t sure if it was dread or happiness which filled you. Seokjin told you over the phone that Yoongi had broken up with his girlfriend back in March. He was probably nursing a broken heart or maybe he didn't care at all. The thing was: you had no idea. You hadn’t seen him since that awkward sighting at your house months back. Prior to that, you hadn't seen him since he left for college close to two years ago now. He was different now. Maybe this wasn’t your Yoongi.

But he wore the same gummy smile your Yoongi always used to share with you. You could’ve sworn you were fourteen again, stuck with him on that train as he grinned at you like that.

“Hey, kid,” he spoke warmly, slowly making his way toward you. Still sounded like the Yoongi you remembered.

And then he wrapped his arms around you even though he had told you multiple times that he hated them, and you felt like you were going to melt in his arms.

“I missed you,” the boy murmured into your hair, bringing you closer to him.

You blinked . . . then breathed in. Sweet—like jasmine and wood. He still smelled the same.

You wrapped your arms around him then, finally allowing yourself to hold him once again. It didn’t matter if you wouldn’t see him for three years after this, you just wanted to remember him like this. You wanted to bottle this moment in your mind before time etched away at your soul.

Then finally . . . you whispered as if afraid of your own voice, “I missed you, too.” You let yourself be selfish in that moment, pulling him closer as you buried your face into his chest and breathed him in.

“How’s it feel to be an adult?” he questioned after a minute.

You choked out a laugh. “Horrible.”

Yoongi ruffled your hair, laughing into you, his shoulders moving as he laughed. He pulled back a second later, the smile still on his face. “I got you something,” he said, his voice giving off that same calmness it always did.

You blinked up at him, eyes full of wonderment.

But you weren’t kept waiting long as the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace with a hanging charm of a . . . paper airplane.

You quirked a brow.

Your reaction only caused the boy to snort, scrunching his nose. “I know. I know,” he began, laughing slightly. “I tried to find a paper ring charm like the one you made for me, but the only origami charms I could find were of this or a paper crane.”

“And you chose the paper . . . airplane?”

Yoongi only ruffled your hair again, to which you shoved him, huffing in agitation as you fixed your previously picture-perfect styled hair.

“Listen, kid, I’m in college and broke. Accept the present,” Yoongi told you, his voice humorous. He shrugged, his eyes on the paper plane charm. “Besides, I hear paper airplanes are kind of like a symbol for throwing yourself into the future.”

You deadpanned. “That’s stupid,” you huffed as you grabbed at the necklace and hastily clasped it around your neck.

Yoongi only smiled, although it was one of those half-grins that you had never seen him give to you before. And you hated to admit it, but it was attractive.

A second later, Yoongi was speaking again. “Airplane Part Two is one of my next upcoming pieces I’ve composed for my album,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

Your eyes bulged. “You’re making an album?”

“Well . . . it’s more like a few original pieces I’ve come up with put on a burned CD that I’m thinking about sending out to whoever will give it a chance, but . . . “ he trailed off, his words growing awkward on his tongue.

You helped him finish his thought as you slapped his arm. “You’re making an album!” you exclaimed, slightly jumping up and down.

Yoongi blew a raspberry. “Trying, but shit it’s hard.”

“Tough,” you hummed, holding onto him tightly. “You’re gonna be famous. Mark my words, Min Yoongi, the greatest pianist to ever live.”

That half-grin was back on his face. It almost looked as if he were about to lean closer toward you to speak of his gratitude, but he never got the chance. One second it was just you and Yoongi, then the next Seokjin and Hoseok were jumping the two of you. There were no words exchanged, just bickering and gleeful shouts as Seokjin clung onto Yoongi, who fought the boy, trying to get him off him while Hoseok kept nudging into you, singing the song which played as they watched you walk across the stage to finally receive your high school diploma.

“Aren’t we all too old for this shit?!” you yelled over their shouts.

Yoongi grimaced against Seokjin’s chants in his ear. “Agreed!” the Min boy shouted as he tried plugging his ears.

But the other two boys only continued. You almost stormed away to go find your parents for pictures or to go see if Hari was still there with Taehyung and Jimin, but before you could, the boys grabbed you and hoisted you up on their shoulders. You glanced down finding Seokjin and Hoseok on either side of you as the two of them continued their chants and began walking, carrying you as if you were some kind of royal. And at the realization of how your little group probably looked at that very moment, you burst out laughing.

You let them carry you through the parking lot, through the hoards of your classmates and their families, and toward Seokjin’s car. You let yourself laugh the whole time, realizing this was the hardest you had laughed all year. And then your eyes drifted toward Yoongi, who walked ahead of the three of you, his back turned to you as he glanced over his shoulder every so often with a grin on his face.

The next time he glanced back, his eyes met yours, nose scrunching as his grin grew. You bit back your smile, but didn’t miss the way your hand seemed to subconsciously drift to the necklace clasped around your neck.

Maybe you could be friends with Yoongi without hoping for more. This was enough. More wasn’t needed in your group's little world.

The graduation party was anything but boring.

It was a small thing. Your brother had organized it, claiming he was the party planner of the family, which you didn't complain about. Your parents just let him roll with it, too tired to put up a fight. So he'd invited your friends and their parents, throwing a small and—for once—modest celebration in your honor. And then the night began.

About halfway through, full of food and about to pass out for the night, you made your way to the backyard. It was no secret you could go on and on for hours, talking to Yoongi's parents about how he used to be as a kid or sneaking sips of champagne with Hari, Taehyung, and Jimin. But the night had been long and you just wanted a moment of silence—silence that you had been used to when you were a kid.

But as you made your way outside, your eyes landed on someone sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water. As you stepped closer, you realized this person was actually Yoongi. You couldn't help but smile.

"Hey," you murmured as you sat beside him and stuck your feet in the cool water.

His eyes lifted up to reach yours, crinkling as he scrunched his nose and gave you a smile. "Hey, kid."

You scooted closer and latched onto him, linking your arms and resting your head on his shoulder. You'd missed this. You'd missed him. "What are you doing out here?" you felt yourself ask.

He hesitantly reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together. He released a sigh. "Needed air."

You nodded against his shoulder. "Stress?"

"Something like that."

"Just don't take up smoking."

What? Why would you say that? You scolded yourself. It seemed distance had made you grow more nervous around him.

"It's just—I hear it's a bad habit," you tried to salvage your words. "Like stress reliever, sure, but—“

But Yoongi only laughed under his breath, cutting you off for your own good. "Don't worry, kid. I wouldn't dream of it."

"OK . . . good."

God, was this awkward. No, you were sure you were the one making it awkward. Yoongi wasn't.

"My parents think I'm wasting my twenties," he confessed, suddenly.

"Oh."

"That's why . . . " he trailed off, looking down. "We got into a fight at the party. That's why I'm out here. I just—I couldn't look at them anymore. They look at me like I'm . . . like I'm a failure."

You squeezed your eyes shut, lifting your head from his shoulder. You had always known Yoongi's parents never supported his passion. You both had talked about it for hours when you were younger. He'd always just had your support, and that used to be enough. You weren't sure if it was enough anymore, though.

"You're not a failure, Yoon," were the words that came out of your mouth as you squeezed his hand in comfort. "It doesn't matter what they say or what they think . . . you're not a failure."

He only sighed. "I just want to make them proud."

A beat of silence.

Then, you spoke. "I'm proud of you."

His eyes met yours, searching.

You offered a small smile. "You've made me proud."

The corner of his lip twitched, but he didn't smile.

You took your chances then, lifting a hand to his face, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. "It takes guts to do what you're doing. It's admirable, Yoon. Really, it is. What you're doing—" you paused, your hand stilling against his face— "it's important. What you're doing is important. You owe it to yourself to continue."

Yoongi did smile then. "When did you get so smart?"

"I always have been."

"Cocky."

"Sometimes being cocky is good."

He pinched your nose. "Always stay the same, kid."

A comforting silence fell upon the two of you as you dropped your hand and leaned your head back on his shoulder, letting the ripples of the pool water fill your hearing. Your eyes fluttered closed then, allowing yourself to solidify this moment in your brain. You didn't realize just how much you'd missed him. And then you realized having him in your life as a friend was more important than anything else. You had to let go of the idea of you and him together. His friendship was more important than some romance you were sure you could find again.

You never had to let him go.

You just had to let it go; let your feelings for him go.

It would be better this way.

But despite this, you couldn't help the itching question on your mind. What could you say? You were nosey. So it was no surprise to you when you said, "Um . . . so I heard about your breakup. You alright? You can, like, talk or vent or whatever about it . . . you know."

Yoongi chuckled. "There's not much to say," he hummed, his voice calm. "Just didn't work out. No bad blood. No nothing. Just . . . just two different people who wanted different things."

"What did you want?"

You could have sworn you felt him stiffen beside you.

"Sorry—" you rushed out, feeling awkward. "I didn't mean to—"

"I wanted more. I want . . . more," he confessed, cutting you off.

You lifted your head from his shoulder. "More?"

He glanced your way, eyes on you. "Something epic, I guess."

You snorted. "Min Yoongi, are you a hopeless romantic?"

As a half-grin lifted onto his face, his eyes trailed over your features. "Something like that," he murmured.

"Well—" you wet your lips, amused— "good luck."

"What? Do you not believe in that anymore?" he asked, nudging you with his arm.

You blew a raspberry. "I don't know. Maybe in college I'll find it, but . . . I don't know."

"You haven't already?" he questioned, his face falling like he was shocked or maybe . . . disappointed ( . . . ? ). "Found it, I mean."

"In high school?" you snorted, feeling a weight on your chest. Of course, you'd found it. You'd found it in him, but that wasn't real. Maybe if he felt the same then it'd be real, but . . . he didn't. What you felt for him was surely considered puppy love. Right? One-sided puppy love? That wasn't real. That was nothing.

You realized you had been staring at him for far too long then. You cleared your throat, averting your gaze to the water surrounding you. "I don't think I've found it," you murmured. "It kind of feels . . . intangible."

"Right."

"Have you?"

"What?"

"Come on, you've had like how many girls, some guys even, attached to your hip since you left, you're telling me you didn't feel anything for any of them?" you asked, teasing him.

He smirked at that. "Have you been stalking me?"

You rolled your eyes. "Get a grip, Yoon. My brother calls me to tell me everything," you said. "He's really such a gossip queen, honestly."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Uh, I don't know . . . " he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Before I left, I didn't really know who I was. But . . . being alone . . . being away from home . . . I guess it's opened my eyes to what I really want . . . "

"Cryptic."

"What I had with the people I’ve been with, with my ex—" he huffed out a sigh— "it wasn't special." His eyes lifted to yours. "Call me whatever you want, but . . . I want something real. I didn't really realize I'd been settling . . . I guess . . . until I came back. Being home . . . it's brought back memories and shit that I didn't even really realize I'd felt until I came back."

Maybe he was harboring a crush for someone back home or maybe he finally realized he wanted to find the real thing. Either way . . . you'd support it. You knew you would.

"Wow, so you do have a heart," you hummed, a teasing smile on your face.

He laughed, lightly pushing your face away from him. "You're an asshole."

"What?" you snorted. "Not my fault my brother's been playing you up as this mega-player. I thought maybe constantly having your dick wet made your heart shrivel up with it."

He scoffed. "My dick is not shriveled."

You scrunched your face. "Are you sure?"

"No, you're right," he hummed. "It fell off, actually."

You grin, holding back your laughter. "Thought so."

He only shook his head, laughing slightly.

"Well—" you clapped a hand down on his back— "I hope you find the love of your life and live happily ever after. Hopefully, they'll be able to look past your shriveled dick." You laughed at that, amusing yourself.

But you weren't laughing long as you felt two hands suddenly shove you forward, causing you to fall into the water. You resurfaced only a second later, your ears being filled with Yoongi's laughter as you wiped your eyes and glared at him. You watched as the boy clutched his stomach, his shoulders shaking while he laughed.

"You are a bitch," you huffed, shivering in the water.

Yoongi only laughed harder.

Your glare intensified, and then an idea popped into your head. A sly grin slipped onto your face as you splashed water at him, drenching his clothes. He stopped laughing then, his eyes finding yours . . . and you knew you were fucked.

Your face dropped. "No!" you yelled, pointing a finger at him. "I know what you're thinking. Don't you dare." You had begun backing up in the pool, getting further away from him, but you knew it was too late.

Yoongi smirked before he jumped into the water, slowly making his way toward you as you backed up. You heard yourself shout one more time before his hands were on you, carrying you in his arms briefly before he let go, throwing you into the deep end as a scream ripped through you. The water burned your nose and eyes, but you didn't care, you resurfaced in the water, gasping. You groaned, wiping your eyes to see Yoongi laughing at you, which only irritated you more. That was when you attacked.

While he was laughing, you lunged for his back, clasping your arms around his neck as your legs hooked around his waist, trying your hardest to knock him over. But Yoongi only laughed harder, his hands coming around your arms to squeeze them.

"Stop laughing!" you shouted, still trying to knock him over in the water.

"I can't help it."

"You won't be laughing when I kill you."

But Yoongi did laugh at that. "Cute."

"Shut up," you huffed, not giving up. "I am not—"

But you didn't get to finish your sentence as Yoongi bent his knees, sinking the two of you into the water. You resurfaced a second later, coughing the water out of your lungs. You were still clinging onto Yoongi, your arms around his neck and legs locked around his waist, but it didn't feel unusual. It felt like you two were kids again.

"You're dead, Min," was all you managed to get out as you accepted defeat and rested your cheek against his back, trying to catch your breath.

"You're cute, kid," he said in response.

You flicked his ear in response, but couldn't hide the bashful expression which crossed your face. You knew his words were innocent. You did not look into it. You were friends.

And this time, you didn't get your hopes up.

You did not see Yoongi for the remainder of that year.

You talked to Seokjin on the phone a lot, hearing bits and pieces about their lives. Yoongi had a new girlfriend now. Funny enough, she just so happened to be Han Daeun—the girl you’d seen him with by his car. They’d met again at some bar, and hit it off, according to your older brother. You supposed she had been the one he was talking about that night after your graduation. It made sense now.

You didn’t call to congratulate Yoongi. Why would you anyway? That’d be too weird, even for you guys. Hey, I know we haven't talked in a long time but I just wanted to wish you the best. Yeah, weird.

You tried not to be jealous, but there was still that bitter sting in your chest when you found out the news. But . . . it was lesser now. The distance had softened the ache that he had left within you, even if there were nights when you’d look back at your old childhood diary and allow yourself to let a few tears slip at the memories.

Remembering the past hurt.

But you stayed occupied.

You had to as your first year as an adult wasn’t exactly ideal. You had dropped out of college within the first month, not because you couldn’t handle it or were falling behind, but because you knew this was not the path that had been carved for you. Your path was somewhere else. It was getting your hands dirty, getting your name and your pieces out into the world of art.

Your career was a work in process, but you were getting there.

From dusk till dawn you worked. You applied everywhere, trying to book gallery after gallery, and it paid off as you were contacted to submit a few pieces for the grand opening of a new gallery. Your hands were calloused and withered, but you didn’t care. Soon, the name Yoongi had stuffed into the back of your mind, allowing your work to be the center of your attention.

This was how you got over him.

But one night, just as you were finishing up in your studio, your phone pinged. You’d received a text . . . from Yoongi.

Yoon Your brother told me about the gallery. I’m proud of you. :)

You stared at the text for a few minutes, clutching the necklace around your neck that he had given you before you reached to reply.

You typing . . . I miss you

But your thumb hovered over the send button. Your eyes flicked back to his text, and it dawned on you that you couldn’t hit send.

His words had stuck with you. They had been innocent just as they always had been. This was your relationship now: sending each other support every few months, but never anything more. There would be no more basketball matches or piano lessons. Just this. It would never be as it used to be.

And you had to be fine with that.

You were, you decided that night.

You would let it all go—all the love, all the memories, all the hurt. You’d let it all go for this: a few simple encouraging words from an old friend.

A smile lifted onto your face as your thoughts agreed with each other. Then, you erased your previous message, and typed a new one before you nodded and hit send.

You Thank you, Yoon.

You had invited Hari over to celebrate her first month of college, along with Taehyung and Jimin. Of course, your roommate, Namjoon was already there—the same boy you had shared your first kiss with. You’d grown closer to him over the past year or so. He’d found you one day, struggling to carry your canvases to your studio while he was heading to class. He’d skipped to help you, and once you got to talking, he had managed to convince you to let him be your unofficial-official assistant. He claimed it would be the work experience he’d need when he graduated and went on to start his own business.

You hadn’t known exactly what he meant as it made no sense whatsoever, but you did like the idea of someone running your errands for you. And with a handshake, you had an agreement. The rest was history . . .

Now, at your apartment, your group was situated around the small coffee table. It was Namjoon’s idea to play Russian Roulette—a stupid drinking game with cards that he claimed he had made up, but you were sure he was full of shit. (Taehyung had wanted to play Go Fish, but everyone ignored . . . that.)

With six shot glasses in front of the group, only a few being full of vodka, the five of you guys immersed yourselves in the game. And when it got to the fifth round, you pulled your card, only to discover you had the lowest number for the third time in a row. Your friends bellowed out cheers, while you groaned.

“What the fuck?!” you whined, throwing your head back. “That’s the third fucking time!”

“Sucks to suck,” Jimin laughed.

You jumped at him, the boy falling backward as Namjoon pulled you away from him.

“Woah, woah, woah, no need to get hostile,” Namjoon voiced. “Just take the loss like a man and throw it back.”

You glared at him over your shoulder. “I’m gonna smother you in your sleep.”

Namjoon blinked. “And on that note, I think Jimin should take the boss’s shot!”

“Yah!” Jimin shouted. “She lost!”

Taehyung’s hand shot up in the air. “I say they fight to the death for it!”

A slap on his chest from Hari made him lower his hand. “Don’t be stupid,” she huffed. “Jimin take the shot.”

Jimin only gasped.

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck, fine!” you groaned as you picked from the six shot glasses and hoped you had picked water. You didn’t think as you took the shot, quickly discovering it was, in fact, vodka. You gagged at the taste, but swallowed it down. “Fuck you guys. Did you fill all of them with vodka?”

Jimin and Taehyung eyed each other.

You raised your brows. “Did you?”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Well—”

But there was a knock at your door that interrupted him. You rolled your eyes as you told them you’d be back, leaving the four to loudly fight over the fact that the two boys had ruined the game. You reached the door, swinging it open only for your eyes to meet those of the same person you hadn’t seen since you graduated over a year ago.

“Yoongi?” you breathed out, your voice a whisper.

He gave you that same sweet half-grin, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling slightly as he saw your face. “Hey, kid.”

You scrunched your brows. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he said, his words slurring slightly.

He was drunk.

You stiffened. “You’re drunk.”

His grin fell and his head dropped at your words as he brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I am,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I knew it was a bad idea to show up. I . . . I was gonna call but I dropped my phone at the club.” He still didn’t meet your eyes. “Your brother—He went home with a girl, and to be honest, I did not want to be there for it . . . so he gave me your address . . . “

“And?”

Yoongi sheepishly looked up. “I was wondering if I could sleep on your couch?”

You released a sigh, leaning against the doorway. “Isn’t your girlfriend in town? Can’t you stay there?”

“I would, but I don’t know my rights from my lefts. We're also kind of fighting right now. That—That’s why I’m—I think we’re over. I don’t know. I also don’t think I could make it anyway,” Yoongi slurred, laughing slightly. “Like, there’s definitely two of you right now, which honestly isn’t that bad of a sight but—”

“Fine,” you cut him off, trying to ignore the fact that he'd just confessed he and his girlfriend were having problems. You didn't want to hope they'd break up. That was a horrible thing to wish upon him. (But . . . you also couldn't help it.) “You can come in.” You pushed the door, swinging it open enough for the boy (man, now?) to stumble in.

Getting Yoongi to lay down was a hassle on its own. As soon as he entered your apartment, he’d recognized Namjoon, and started going on about how he was gonna kick his ass if he touched you again. He’d even tried to pry Namjoon off the couch, but due to his intoxicated state, he ended up slumping against the floor, giving up entirely. Only then was it possible for you and Namjoon to carry him to your room, where he’d be sleeping for the night. (There was no way you were going to burden Namjoon by having your old friend sleep in your shared living room.)

And once Yoongi had kicked off his shoes, making himself incredibly at home, you rolled your eyes, telling Namjoon that you were just going to stay in your room to make sure he wouldn’t roll off the bed and die or something. He’d nodded, and quickly joined the others, closing the door behind him, and leaving the two of you alone.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, breathing a heavy sigh. You blinked a few times, your eyes drifting over to Yoongi’s sleeping figure on your bed, and something in your chest swelled. You let your emotions get the better of you as you sat down on the bed, reaching a hand for his hair that had been dyed mint-green now. You ran your fingers through it, massaging his scalp in the process as you came to the conclusion that his hair was a little shorter now and you liked it all the same.

You hated the fact that he had this effect on you; that no matter how much time had passed, you’d still be that same little girl watching him walk through your front door, thinking that he was the most beautiful person you had ever seen.

You halted your actions at that realization. You would always love him . . . wouldn’t you?

You didn't miss the way your eyes burned as those thoughts dawned on you. You were still so fucked.

But the wallowing in the dark alone didn’t last long as you felt Yoongi shift under you, groaning slightly as if he were whining . . . ? His hand found yours a second later as he rasped out, “Feel nice. More.”

You almost snorted at that, drying your eyes.

“No,” you mumbled as you reached for the glass of water that you managed to get before taking him into your room. “Drink.”

And Yoongi obliged, sitting up as he took the glass and chugged. Once he was done, he reached to put it on the bedside table before his eyes found yours. But they didn’t stay fixated on you for long, before he reached for you, pulling you into him by your waist and laying back down with you in his arms. You only groaned, quietly protesting at his sudden affection.

“Yoongi, get off, you fucker,” you huffed, but you didn’t pull away from him.

At that, Yoongi only snickered as he pulled you in tighter and buried his face into your neck, breathing in your scent. “I can’t sleep without hugging a pillow,” he mumbled into your skin, causing you to shiver at the feeling.

“So I’m a pillow now?”

“More or less.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Mmm, but I’m your asshole,” he sang as he squeezed your sides.

You smacked his back, pushing him away from you only enough so you could look him in the eyes. And with his arms still secured safely around you and your faces only a few inches apart, you swore your heart stopped. But Yoongi only smiled, his gums on display.

“You still have the necklace,” he hummed out as he pressed a hand to your chest where the necklace lay.

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I guess I couldn’t give it up.”

The smile on his face widened. “Good, never give up on . . .” he mumbled, trailing off probably due to his intoxicated state (but you could’ve sworn he had wanted to say something else) with his hand still on your chest. You swore he could feel your heart beating, and you hoped he wouldn’t think anything of it.

The silence consumed you then, you staring at Yoongi with wide eyes as he remained oblivious while he toyed with the necklace around your neck. He pulled on it slightly, causing you to move closer to him. His eyes snapped up to meet yours, then, and you felt like you were a lovestruck kid again.

“I missed you, angel,” he finally whispered.

Angel. He had never called you that before. Was it because he and his girlfriend were fighting? Did he think . . .

You didn’t smile this time, growing cold. “You always say that.”

The half-grin on Yoongi’s face slowly fell. “Did you not . . . miss, uh, miss me?”

You felt a lump forming in your throat. Yes. Of course, you missed him. You were sure you’d miss him forever. But . . . you couldn't have him looking at you like you were still that same lovesick child. It didn't matter if he broke up with his girlfriend or whatever! The fact of the matter still remained the same.

He would never be yours, and you weren’t his.

And Yoongi took your silence as an answer.

No, it seemed to hiss, and you let him believe that to be true because it was better than admitting you were still that stupid little girl, running away from him when you saw him making out with Daeun against his car.

“You’re my brother’s best friend,” you forced yourself to say. “That’s all, right?”

Yoongi blinked. “Right.”

You nodded. “So what’s there to miss?”

Yoongi met your gaze then. “Nothing, I guess.”

And then he was pulling away, turning around so his back was facing you as he wrapped his arms around himself. His breathing became slower, heavier, in the minutes to come, and you knew he had fallen asleep, but you couldn’t.

Letting go wasn’t easy, you decided. You would have to put the necklace away tomorrow. It would be wise to not see him after this. It would be wise . . .

“You guys are like family to me, so I figured now would be the best time to tell you that . . . I asked Daeun to marry me,” Yoongi announced, standing at the head of the dinner table with a beer in his hand and that half-grin on his face. “She said yes.”

The rim to the bottle of beer in your hand stopped at your lips as your friends and family erupted into cheers and loud applause, gathering around Yoongi to congratulate him. It was just supposed to be a small get-together with friends and family to celebrate their accomplishments that year; it was just supposed to be a normal day for you . . . until you heard Yoongi say those words.

He’d asked Daeun to marry him. The last time you saw him, he'd told you they were fighting. You thought that meant they were on the road to breaking up, not . . . getting engaged.

But you were wrong.

Yoongi was getting married. He was—

You pushed out of your seat, quickly apologizing that you needed some air before you headed outside to your backyard. Your feet were moving faster than you could think and your heart was hammering in your chest. You felt sick and mildly like you would throw up any second.

Min Yoongi was engaged.

He was fucking engaged.

And all you could feel was this deep anger boiling inside of you. It wasn’t that you hated him. You couldn’t even if you tried. Rather, you hated yourself. This anger was toward yourself and only toward you. Why did you have to fall for him of all people? Why did this heartache have to last so long? Why couldn’t you just move on?

You buried your face in your hands. You didn’t care if your makeup smeared. You wanted to rip the skin off anyway.

He was getting married, and there was nothing you could do about it except hate yourself even more. One childhood crush had managed to ruin your life. Even at twenty years old, you were just as fucked as you had been when you were ten. You’d loved him for a decade now . . . a decade too long.

You just couldn't let go. You never threw away the necklace. Hell, you still kept the paper ring you had made for him when you were twelve, in hopes that when you did turn twenty-five, he’d finally accept it. You still had hope as stupid and foolish as it seemed.

You should’ve let him go years ago.

But you couldn’t.

And just as you had begun to feel the burning in your eyes become worse, the door leading to the backyard slid open. You quickly wiped your eyes and cleared your throat before you stood to your feet, wiping your hands on your baggy jeans but you didn’t look to see who had invaded your space. You glanced up at the sky instead, discovering how quickly the sun had set. What a funny little thing time was, you thought.

And then you heard him . . .

“Hey, kid,” Yoongi spoke from behind you, his voice soft and calm, but a little gruffer than it used to be. He had changed. You still had trouble accepting this.

Nevertheless, you cleared your throat and put on the front you’d perfected before you turned around and met Yoongi’s dark gaze. Warm feline-like brown eyes stared back at you, nursing the wounds inflicted on your soul.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Hey.”

He took a hesitant step toward you, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweats. “Why’d you leave?” he questioned.

You wondered what he thought of you now. Had he truly believed you when you told him you didn’t miss him? Did he think your crush had faded away? You hoped he had. That would be easier to fathom.

So you tried your best to convince him you looked at him as if he were just your older brother’s best friend, and shrugged. “Don’t tell anyone, but—” you paused, trying to think of a lie— “I fainted in my studio over the weekend so, you know, obviously, I went to the doctor and my . . . iron levels are low. So, um, surprise, I’m anemic!”

Yoongi blinked at you, concern morphed onto his face (with a hint of . . . disappointment ( . . . ? ) in his eyes).

God, you were bad at this.

A hand flew to your face as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Anyway . . . I just . . . I thought I was gonna pass out, so . . . “ you let your words trail off as the silence finished your sentence.

He crossed the path toward you, reaching you in no time as one hand flew to secure around your arm while the other touched your forehead. “Are you getting help for it? No, sorry, do you need something to drink? Water? I feel like beer won’t help with the symptoms, right?” he rushed out, his face stern and solemn as he roamed concentrated eyes over your features while he checked your temperature with the back of his hand.

You blinked at him. “I’m . . . um, I’m fine,” you stuttered out as you took a step away from him, detaching his hands from your body. “It’s not like there’s much to do for it, just gotta keep watch.”

To be honest, you had no idea what exactly being anemic meant, but . . . it was either feed into the lie or confess that you were still in love with him. The latter seemed like the worst route to take, so lying it was.

And Yoongi seemed to believe you, so win-win, you supposed.

The next second, the silence had begun to eat away at you and you were forced to say something.

“You’re engaged,” was what you had opted for. Great start.

Yoongi, looking taken aback, stared at you, that same hint of disappointment in his eyes as he spent his time searching your features for something, although you couldn’t exactly tell what he was looking for. But you needn’t dwell on it for too long as he shook his head the next second, and let a warm smile touch his lips. “I’m engaged,” he confirmed.

The ache in your chest worsened as you forced yourself to smile. “I’m happy for you, Yoon,” you heard yourself say as you patted his shoulder. “Truly.”

Yoongi rested his hand over yours, squeezing it. “Thank you, kid,” he said, his voice a whisper.

A beat of silence.

“Your boyfriend’s nice,” Yoongi announced.

Another beat of silence. You shifted in your spot. You had almost forgotten you invited this guy you’d been seeing for the past few weeks. It wasn’t anything serious. None of these flings you had ever were.

“Not my boyfriend,” you finally said after a minute. “More like a fuck buddy.”

Yoongi gave you that same damn look you had always hated before he opened his mouth, “You’re—”

“Too young for that?” you finished for him, a small smirk sliding onto your face. “I know you too well, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi leaned in closer to you, his face solemn. “And I know you well enough to know you don’t want this,” he whispered, his voice scratchy as his eyes searched yours. “That little girl who believed in magic is still in there.” He laughed, remembering the past. “You would watch Matilda over and over again because you said art to you was like your power . . . like your gift just as telekinesis was hers. You—you believe in magic. You believe in doing the impossible. You believe in . . . love.” He cleared his throat only once. “You believe in love. I know you do.”

What answer was he looking for? He wouldn’t find the girl he had grown up with. The past was in the past, there was no remanence of it in those eyes of yours. There was just heartache hidden behind dead eyes and dark eye bags.

“I remember you used to make me watch romcoms with you when Jin would fall asleep,” he went on. “Come on, where’s the girl who wanted her first kiss to be special?”

Confusion twisted onto your face. Why would he ask you that? He had no place.

But, still, you did not want to fight today. You didn’t want him to think you still felt something toward him, so you did your best to mask your emotions, and simply smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. And then, you looked him dead in the eyes and said, “She grew up.”

Yoongi blinked, taken aback. He shook his head and cleared his throat a second later, his eyes drifting down your attire, but it was a fleeting glance. Still, he managed to mumble out, “I can see that.”

You stood your ground, clicking your tongue. “Well, should we go back inside then?” you questioned.

Yoongi only nodded.

With that, you patted him on the shoulder once before you walked by him and headed for the door. But before you slid it open, you turned your head over your shoulder and called out to him. He turned around, his eyes on you, but he was looking at you in a way he had never looked at you before. It felt . . . intimate; too much so for you to handle.

“Congrats,” you forced yourself to say before you could melt under his gaze. “I mean it. I wish you and Daeun all the best.” You forced a smile on your face. “Promise I’ll get to be godmother one day?”

Yoongi’s brows twitched, and for a second you could’ve sworn you saw a hint of sadness stretching across his face. But it was gone before you could even blink.

“I promise,” he finally replied, his voice low and soft . . . mellow even.

You stuck your hand up, your pinky finger on display. You lifted your brows once. “Pinky promise?”

A small smile tugged at Yoongi’s lips as he mirrored your actions, sticking his pinky finger up. “Pinky promise,” he hummed.

But neither of you moved to lock your fingers together. You didn’t need to. The both of you knew what this gesture meant.

It was a promise—another one to add to your little jar of pinky promises you had kept over the years. You wondered how many of those the two of you had broken already as you walked inside and left Yoongi outside alone.

Half a year later, you found yourself sitting through Yoongi and Daeun’s wedding. They decided to have it quicker than expected, opting for a winter ceremony as per Daeun’s request. Daeun had even offered for you to be one of her bridesmaids, but Yoongi had refused, claiming you had to be one of his best men or rather best woman in this scenario. And how could you refuse?

Your dress was red as was Seokjin’s tie and the rest of the wedding party. After the ceremony, your brother insisted on wearing a pin that said ‘best man’ and quickly went to the champagne flutes that were displayed in the dining hall for the reception. He’d be giving a speech later, but you’d seen him act sober before, so whatever.

That didn’t stop Hoseok from going over to him, trying to get the man to slow down before the champagne shot out his nose. You rolled your eyes, laughing slightly at the two boys you had grown up with as you slowly made your way to the table where your seat was located.

As people floated into the room, taking their seats, you watched in melancholy. You watched familiar faces converse with each other, talking about the now bride and groom. And you knew it was wrong, but as you sat there, you secretly imagined that this had been your wedding.

You almost smiled at the thought, but caught yourself just in time. It really was time to throw that damned paper ring in the trash.

But before your thoughts could go too far, you suddenly heard someone call out your name, tearing you from your mind.

Your eyes flicked up to see Hari waving over to you. You waved back, a wide smile slowly crawling onto your face. You watched as Taehyung and Jimin stepped in the room after Hari, whacking each other and then scolding the other as they did so. Hari turned around, tugging on their ears and hissing something to them that quickly made them straighten their posture. And like clockwork, Namjoon strolled in, looking completely oblivious as the three turned to glare at him. (Yoongi had warmed up to Namjoon over the years, finally accepting him into his life . . . (but you still had to beg him to invite him to the wedding.).

This was a happy time, you tried to remind yourself. You should be happy just as they were . . . but you knew you weren't.

It appeared Hari had noticed this too as she quickly stopped Taehyung and Jimin from going over to bother you. The thing was: Jung Hari knew about the feelings you harbored for Yoongi, and she knew what this day meant for you. That also meant she knew not to bother you. (Couldn’t have one of the best men (best woman? Whatever!) crying into a champagne flute before the reception even started.)

And you had managed to keep your emotions in check throughout the majority of the reception. You kept a happy face, smiling at Yoongi and his bride. You conversed with his friends from college, explaining you were Seokjin’s kid sister, which basically meant Yoongi was like an older brother to you (if only, then this wouldn’t be so hard). You laughed, and made jokes, and did everything you were supposed to do. You were absolutely perfect.

Until it got to the speeches.

Daeun’s friends went first, sharing how they met the bride and the first time they were introduced to Yoongi. Then was the bride’s mother, and her sister following shortly after. All the while, you clutched the piece of paper in your hand where you had written your speech, secretly wishing this stupid scrap paper had been your vows and not . . . this. And while you feared you may suffocate under all the pressure, Seokjin stood up to give his speech. It wasn’t long, rather it was short and sweet and filled with all the humorous things they had done as kids. He even mentioned the little basketball scrimmages he, Yoongi, Hoseok, and you would have.

And then it was your turn . . .

With the clearing of your throat, you stood from your seat, paper still clutched tightly in your hand. Seokjin hadn’t sat down, still grinning widely as if he felt the need to stand by and guard his sister while you gave your speech. Which . . . whatever, you felt oddly more sure of yourself with your brother by your side, so your eyes found his first before you moved on to the other guests.

Your eyes roamed over the tables of people, finally landing on Yoongi, and then your heart began to race. You swallowed your feelings and cleared your throat once more before your eyes landed on the stupid speech you had written.

“Um . . . for those I haven’t had the chance to meet properly I’m Seokjin's sister and the groom's favorite Kim sibling . . . and this has got to be one of the happiest days of my life,” you began, as you lifted your eyes and began to put on the performance of your life. “From day one, Yoongi and my brother were like these two peas in a pod. I honestly think they even went to the bathroom together. You know, one does his business while the other hands him toilet paper. Weird, weird boys . . . “

Light laughter filtered throughout the room as you trailed off. You smiled slightly as your eyes drifted back down to your words on the paper. “Um, but, uh, with that came other things,” you began again. “Having an older brother is like having your personal guardian angel from the moment you’re born. Some of us aren’t as lucky as others, but, I . . . I was lucky enough to have two protectors.” Your eyes found Yoongi’s. “Yoongi’s been my protector from the day I met him . . . just . . . just like my older brother here.” You patted Seokjin’s shoulder.

“I mean he’s been pulling me out of the street when I’ve stepped in front of cars for years now,” you went on, trying to make your words flow, but failing. “He’s tied my shoes when they’ve come undone. I mean—” you gave an awkward laugh— “on my sixteenth birthday, I got so drunk I literally thought I was gonna die, and as always Yoongi was there to, let’s say, nurse me back to health.” You laughed again, wishing to disappear. “It’s funny how—”

But you cut yourself off, the realization dawning on you that these were not the words you wanted to leave with him before he started the rest of his life with someone else. For all you knew . . . this . . . this would be the last time you’d ever see him.

You sighed at your thoughts, squeezing your eyes shut as you nodded in acceptance. You folded the piece of paper, and breathed out a heavy breath before you lifted your head once again, your eyes finding Yoongi’s quickly. And you didn’t look away.

“I was a lonely kid,” you began, your voice softer now. “Yoongi came into my life when I was probably the loneliest I’ve ever been. From then, he’s only ever given me light . . . hope.” The corners of your lips twitched. “I mean the first time we met, he offered me, his friend’s kid sister, a slice of pizza because he noticed I was practically staring it down like I’d been starved for weeks. That already says something because oh, my god, imagine a small child eyeing you like you’re a chicken thigh. I would never do that, but . . . Yoongi would. That’s just who he is.”

You didn’t care to look at the audience's reaction. You only cared about Yoongi’s, and much to your surprise, the boy was staring at you, his eyes soft with a small, warm smile on his face.

“He cares,” you spoke again, your voice strained. “He notices things most of us don’t, and he shows he cares through small acts. He loves quietly but it’s endless, eternal . . . free.” You let a tight-lipped smile form on your face as you felt your eyes begin to burn with tears. “That is why I am so happy he has met someone who will love him in the same way back.”

Your eyes briefly glanced over at Daeun, before you averted your gaze to your open-toed heels. You blinked then, feeling a few tears slip down your cheeks. But you quickly wiped them away, grinning widely to make it appear as though you were crying tears of joy. Then your eyes found Yoongi’s again, searching them, but you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for. You just knew you didn’t want to look away.

And then you continued, “Choosing the person you want to share your life with is one of the most important decisions any of us makes ever, because when it’s wrong, it haunts you. You can’t escape that ghost—it’s ever-present and consuming and—and soul-crushing, and you don’t realize you’re being haunted by your mistakes until you wake up one day and realize years have gone by. We both know the consequences of our mistakes, Yoon. You’ve gotten me through most of mine.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you caught sight of the tears glossing Yoongi’s eyes while he lifted a hand to massage his chin, trying to conceal his expression. You both knew the troubles you'd gone through. You knew the loveless hookups you'd had, and the times Yoongi had told you they didn't deserve you. You'd heard about his breakups. You both had known the ghosts in your lives, and you'd supported each other through it all.

So, the only thing you could do was smile at him—a warm, genuine smile.

“Your friendship has brought this feeling of weightlessness into my life. I’ve been able to get through my hardships because I always knew that even if no one had my back . . . you would,” you confessed, suddenly feeling as though the only person in the room was Min Yoongi, the first and perhaps only boy you would ever love. “I hope I haven’t taken you for granted . . . although I’m sure I have. I’ve given you no other choice but to deal with my temper tantrums—”

Seokjin cut you off, “And she has a lot of those.”

You felt yourself laugh with the audience. “Thank you, big brother,” you muttered as you lightly smacked his chest. “You are such a peach yourself.”

The audience laughed again, but you were only looking at Yoongi. He hadn’t laughed. He remained the same, his eyes glossy as he hid his expression with his hand, trying to keep that cool and calm exterior he always wore.

But you had learned how to read him well.

You knew how he would interpret your words. This wasn’t a speech to send him off into his new life with all the luck in the world . . . this was an apology—an apology for all the years you had blamed him for not reciprocating the feelings you had borne. This was an apology for childishly treating him as if he were the villain when it had been you all along.

This was how you apologized to him, and you both knew it all too well.

You would no longer be his ghost.

You swore it.

And as this all became clear to the two of you, you felt another tear spill down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away with a laugh. “Um, sorry, sorry,” you mumbled on, still weakly laughing slightly. “Yoongi, I’ve spent years taking your friendship for granted. And I know I have because sometimes . . . amidst all the ghosts of those mistakes . . . you don’t realize that the best thing that has ever happened to you is sitting there right under your nose.” Your lips lifted into another warm smile, your eyes remaining glossy but never leaving his face as you slightly tilted your head. “But that’s fine too. It really is, because I’ve realized that . . . no matter where you are or what you’re doing or who you’re with . . . I will always . . . honestly . . . truly . . . completely . . . love you.”

There was a loud silence as those words left your lips, but you didn’t care. You just kept looking at Yoongi, and as you gazed at him, your eyes whispering your apology, you watched as a single tear trickled down Yoongi’s cheek. But he wiped it away as quickly as it had fallen.

That was when it dawned on you that you were still standing, gazing at a married man. You quickly cleared your throat and straightened your posture as you bit out the words, “Like a sister—” you smacked Seokjin’s chest— “loves a brother.”

“Ow,” Seokjin hissed.

But you ignored him. “Or a friend loves a friend,” you rushed out, gesturing to Yoongi. “I’ll always support your dreams as you have supported mine . . . no matter how weird or twisted they may have gotten or, god-forbid, will get.” You cleared your throat once more as you grabbed your champagne flute and lifted it in the air. “So, please, everybody join me in a toast to the bride and groom.”

Seokjin raised his first, officially starting the toast. “Huzzah!” he jokingly cheered before he downed the liquid.

“Huzzah,” you mumbled, quickly sitting down as the next speaker stood.

But you weren’t paying attention. Your mind was elsewhere. And almost as if you could sense someone looking at you, your eyes snapped up, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. Your heart swelled at the sight.

“Thank you,” he mouthed, the warm smile on his face never leaving.

You had only smiled back.

Of course, your smile seemed to say, anything for you.

Anything for him.

Time was a tricky thing for you to wrap your head around, not because it was a particularly hard topic, but rather because of how quickly it actually passed. One second you were watching as Yoongi and Daeun sped off in a car that had Just Married written across it, your heart bleeding as you watched them go. And then the next second, you were standing in front of a whole audience, discussing your art pieces and the meaning behind all of them with a large, accomplished grin on your face.

Time was tricky because it was quick. It was filled with equal parts of bad and good memories. Time was just that . . . tricky.

And as time passed, a year quickly going by, and you living to see your twenty-first birthday, you realized just how far you had come.

You were now being offered job after job, people from all over commissioning you to create pieces for grand openings and whatnot. You had finally done it—made a name for yourself in the world of art. Hell, your name had even made local headlines by now. And while fortune was in your favor, you also made sure to make time to check up on your loved ones.

Your brother was off working at your father’s company, going on date after date. Hoseok always called to say how much he hated his boring office job, but he wasn’t miserable. After all, the Jung man ended up teaching tennis classes on his free days, finding more comfort in that than anything else. Hari, Taehyung, and Jimin were in their last year of college, so nothing new there . . . except, you know, Hari and Taehyung had finally decided to announce they started dating shortly after the wedding (Jimin was still refusing to be tied down, but they all knew that was just a front). Namjoon, well, Namjoon ended up begging Seokjin to hire him at the company, to which Seokjin obliged . . . only if he brought him breakfast every morning (which he obviously agreed to). And then there was Yoongi . . .

You had talked to Yoongi on and off for the past year, only really calling him to tell him about whatever new accomplishment you had achieved. And every time he’d tell you he was proud. His support gave you confidence; it gave you hope.

You’d tried to ask him about any gigs he’d gotten or any news about someone picking up the album, but he always redirected your questions, changing the topic. You supposed he didn’t want to talk about it, but you still managed to remind him that he always had your support; that he could do anything and all it took was a little time. And every time, he’d always just promise you that he’d try to believe in you so he could believe in himself.

He didn’t talk much about his new life or Daeun. You knew he had taken a job at your father’s company, working alongside your friends, but he never talked much about how he liked it. But he had always liked his privacy so you assumed there was nothing wrong.

Then one night, you had called him to tell him of the news you had just received. You see, the thing was: a couple days ago: you had received a call from an agent located in Busan. They’d called with an offer . . . one that, at first, seemed too good to be true. But as you researched and researched, you discovered the opportunities that these offers would give you would put you on the map, not only in South Korea but possibly all over Europe and even in the States. The only catch was . . . you would have to relocate to Busan that coming new year for a contract that would last a total of four years.

And the first person you thought of to tell this news to was . . . of course, Yoongi. But . . . when he answered, you immediately knew he was drunk and all other thoughts escaped your mind. You couldn’t tell him now. That would’ve been cruel.

“They decided to go with someone else,” Yoongi confessed into the phone, and you instantly knew what he had meant. He’d sent in a demo of a few of his original pieces to some real-deal agency and he’d been waiting to hear back from them. Neither of you guys had expected this . . .

“What do you mean, Yoon? Who?” you asked regardless.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

You felt your heart stop, already knowing what he meant. “What? What happened?”

“Daeun—” Yoongi paused, and it sounded as if he had stopped to take a swig of whatever he was drinking— “she says that this is for the best. She told me that, uh, that I should just focus on getting promoted at work instead of . . . wasting my time on music.“ His words trailed off, his breathing becoming heavier. “You know and . . . maybe she’s right. Maybe I should just give up this childish dream, huh? Settle down and have a kid. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Fuck. You slid to your floor, eyes squeezed shut. “Yoon . . . “

“Fuck . . . I wanted it so bad, kid,” Yoongi breathed out, his voice strained. “I didn’t think I could want something so much, but I do. I did.” He cleared his throat, but you knew he was only fighting back a sob. “This . . . life . . . is too much. It’s pointless. Pointless to waste my time on fairytales. There had to be a point where I’d give up and just . . . settle, right? Fuck, I mean I’ve settled before for other things that are way more important than this . . . I guess it’s about time I settle for this nine to five, too, huh?”

You ached for him. “Where are you now? I’ll come to get you and we can talk and cry and watch stupid movies. We can—we can watch Matilda. Yeah, we’ll do that, and everything will be better in the morning. I promise,” you rushed out. “No, no, I pinky promise as stupid as it is. I swear on everything—”

But Yoongi cut you off by whispering your name, his voice soft. “You really are an angel, you know that, right?” he questioned, his words causing the tears you had been holding back to finally fall. “You were always too good for me. I’ve never . . . I’ve never deserved you. I want you to know that.”

“Yoongi . . . “ you murmured, your voice sympathetic.

“No, no—” Yoongi quickly rushed out, his words slurred— “I mean it. I’m sorry . . . for everything.”

Your eyes squeezed shut at his words as you leaned your head against the wall, letting yourself cry silently so he wouldn’t hear. You wet your bottom lip and gathered the courage to speak, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“If only that were true,” Yoongi muttered, laughing slightly. “I think there may be too much I have to apologize for.”

“Well, don’t,” you started. “Don’t apologize. I don’t want to hear it. You’re already forgiven. No matter what, I’m on your side. The only thing I need to hear right now is that you’re safe. OK? Can you tell me if you’re safe?”

“I’m safe, angel,” Yoongi hummed, but his voice was still strained. He was forcing himself not to break . . . for you.

You only cried harder, muffling your sobs with the back of your hand. You hadn’t known exactly what had overcome you, just that you wished you could take this pain he felt and bottle it up. You would bear his pain if it meant he’d finally be able to breathe. You knew you would. You always had just as he had done for you.

Only, you couldn’t carry his pain this time. That was perhaps the reason you had begun to sob.

“Can I come get you?” you asked after a second, desperation in your voice.

This was not the voice of a lover, this was a concerned friend needing to know the other was in good hands. You both knew this. There were no catches to your friendship, just unconditional care—the pure kind; the kind only written or read about.

“Stay home,” he only said, sighing softly. “Just . . . just stay on the phone, yeah? Just until I fall asleep or you do?” His voice was weaker when he spoke again. “Please?”

And you couldn’t do anything except agree. “I will,” you breathed. “I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

“I know, kid. I know.”

Only a week passed before you got a call from Seokjin, telling you that Yoongi had stopped by your parents’ place for dinner. And that was when you decided you’d drop everything and rush to reach him as you were sure your support hadn’t been getting to him recently.

When you arrived, your brother had pointed to the backyard, quickly stating that Yoongi was out there, smoking a cigarette to relieve stress. He’d gone out there twenty minutes ago and no one had spoken to him since, too afraid they’d say the wrong thing and end up having him push them even more away. It seemed this last rejection had been it for him. He’d tried so long, only to be let down time and time again. But this . . . this had been the final push.

Deep down, everyone in the Kim household knew one thing: you could be the one to let him see the light again. And deep down, they were all waiting for you to show up. Because they all knew, there was only one person that could talk Yoongi down from the edge.

That person would always be you.

But as soon as you stepped one foot into your backyard, your eyes on Yoongi’s back, you knew something was different.

And then you spoke . . .

“Hey, Yoon,” you hummed, closing the sliding door behind you and taking a step toward him.

His back stiffened at the sound of your voice, but he didn’t move. A second passed. He took one last drag from his cigarette—which was apparently a new habit he’d picked up over the past year—before he glanced over his shoulder, eyes connecting with yours. You stilled at the sight.

His hair was back to black now as it had been since the wedding. He’d briefly told you Daeun said it made him look more professional, and how could you argue with that? He wouldn’t listen to you anyway. And now, seeing him in the flesh as he put out the cigarette and sent you a tight-lipped smile, you realized just how different he looked. Odd.

You stepped toward the man, standing beside him. “I understand that this is hard, Yoon, just please—”

“I’m gonna take Daeun’s advice,” he suddenly said, cutting you off. “I talked to my parents and they agreed it'd be best, so . . . I’m gonna focus more at work, and put more time in. Maybe in the Spring, we’ll be able to start a family and we’ll go from there.”

You could only blink in shock. “So you’re just giving up?”

“No, I’m—I’m . . . “

“Settling?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t accept it.”

A scoff left Yoongi’s lips—it was dry and void of emotion. “It’s not your decision to make. This is between me and my wife,” he bitterly spat.

You couldn’t believe it. He was actually going to give up . . . on everything. The same boy that told you your dreams were special had just told you he was giving up on his. And all you could do was rush out, “Is this really how you want to live your life? Settling for the mundane life that we always shit on? What happened to giving it your all? What happened to the world-renowned musician that would put on piano recitals just for his friend’s stupid little sister? Huh?”

“Don’t,” Yoongi grumbled, narrowing his gaze. “Don’t pretend like you know how it feels.”

“Why are you acting like this?” you suddenly asked, disbelief in your voice. “I just want to help you. I want you to see that this is not your only option.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “It’s not help, it’s pity. I especially don’t need that from you of all people.”

You squinted your eyes, tilting your head slightly to the side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

For a split second, guilt touched his features but he quickly turned away from you, trudging his fingers through his dark hair. “God, why did they even call you?” he groaned out.

You felt yourself scoff. “Because we’re friends, Yoon,” you muttered, putting your hands on your hips. “I’m worried about you and so are they. Seokjin—”

“Seokjin,” Yoongi couldn’t help but scoff, cutting you off as he turned to face you but didn’t look you in the eyes. “We’re not friends. You said that yourself, remember? You’re just Seokjin’s kid sister.”

There was a chilling silence as your eyes widened at his words. You had told him that the night he crashed at your apartment years ago. You hadn't meant it, but it was clear he thought you had. But you weren’t thinking of that.

You weren’t thinking clearly at all as you slapped your hands against your thighs and scoffed, “Oh, fuck this!” You took a step toward him, pointing a scolding finger into his chest. “I am not a goddamn punching bag, Yoongi. You don’t want to deal with your shit, then fine, but don’t take it out on me when you know damn well all I’ve ever done is support you.”

Yoongi’s eyes softened, but only slightly. “It’s not—It’s not about that,” he murmured, his voice low. “You don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it?” you countered, your anger boiling in your chest now. “I’ve been trying to make my dreams happen ever since we ran away on that train to Busan. I don’t think you get it. This shit isn’t linear. You have bad times and good times. And yeah, sometimes that means you get rejected from an agency, but that does not mean you give up.” You shook your head, only once. “You give up and all of it was for nothing. Is that what you want?”

Yoongi pursed his lips, his face solemn and stiff. “Maybe it is,” he whispered with a small shrug.

You weren’t sure if it was another scoff that left your lips or a muffled yell of frustration. You just knew one moment you were a few inches away from him, then the next you were in his face, teeth clenched and jaw twitching.

“You wanna sit there and tell me how it is, then fine, do that, but you better know that I, yes, of all people, understand what it feels like to fail,” you sternly stated, your voice being raised into a quiet yell. “I dropped out of fucking college, Yoongi. I was almost kicked out on my own when my dad found out. I’ve been trying for three years now, and it's finally paid off. But that does not change the fact that I know how it feels to want something so bad and not succeed at it, but I keep trying because it’s what I want to do, not because it’s what I feel like I have to do.” You swallowed, hard. “You told me to never give up. Why is it any different for you?”

That seemed to irk something within the man as he finally met your gaze, a fire burning within his eyes. “Because you can do that,” he simply spat. “You can decide not to go to college, and even if your dreams crash and burn, it’ll be OK because you’ve got daddy’s money to fall back on. Why do you think I majored in business, huh? Because I had to! I had to have a backup plan! That is why I’m doing this because I don’t have the option not to. That is something you will never understand.”

You blinked, taken aback. Because you’ve got daddy’s money to fall back on.

But Yoongi didn’t seem to notice your expression change as he went on, “Yeah, your dad might be a hard-ass and he might not talk to you for a few weeks, but he would never drop you completely. If I continue down that path, I will have no one. No support, no money, no nothing.”

“I told you you’d always have my support,” you reiterated, not knowing what else to say. Your words were trapped within your mind.

A small scoff left Yoongi’s lips as he shook his head, a grin sliding onto his face, but it wasn’t warm. “And what good will it do?” he finally hissed out. “Huh? Your support doesn’t mean I’ll have money to catch the bus or—or feed myself or even get a fucking place to live. It means nothing in the grand scheme of things."

You almost screamed at the way your heart dropped. Your eyes were growing hot, burning slightly as the tears threatened to spill. You had never fought with Yoongi like this . . . and deep down, you knew what this meant. Furthermore, you knew what he had meant with his words, and that almost ripped you in two.

“Does that go for me, too?” you asked, unable to stop yourself. “Do I mean nothing to you now?”

A flash of sympathy crossed Yoongi’s eyes, his words seemingly finally hitting him. He whispered your name, trailing off, unable to speak further.

And you couldn’t help but shake your head. “You’ve always done that,” you said, clicking your tongue as you lowered your eyes to the ground, catching sight of the basketball court flooring—the same floor which you both had stood on many times before. “You've always said my name like you’re too fucking scared to disappoint me by telling me how you really feel.”

“Fine,” Yoongi abruptly said. “You want the truth?”

You didn’t move. You didn’t need to.

Yoongi continued, “Your support has been burdensome.”

Your heart swelled, the pressure surely enough to make the organ bleed. But still, you wouldn’t let him see this. You fixed a cold glare on your face and raised your head, staring him directly in the eyes. If he wanted to go down this route, then fine. You wouldn’t let him get away with it for free.

Your cold gaze seemed to cause Yoongi’s eyes to soften, but he didn’t back down either. “You’re off attending galleries and getting your name out there and every single time you call me. You call me and it makes me feel like shit, because I’m here trying to make peace with this stupid office job because I keep failing to do what I really want. I’m jealous. I fucking envy you. Is that what you want to hear? That I can’t fucking stand talking to you because your success makes me realize just how useless I am?” he confessed, his voice hoarse. “Because I don’t want that. I don’t want to feel that way. I want to celebrate your successes but I can’t because every single time we talk you always say I have your support and one day I’ll make it . . . but yours is the only support I have and that on its own is not good enough.”

“Well—” you sucked on your teeth, forcing your emotions to the side— “at least you’re brave enough now to admit the truth, right?”

Yoongi stayed silent.

Time passed. It seemed to consume you, and you both were sure it would’ve swallowed you whole had Yoongi not spoken up after a minute.

“You’re not even trying to understand me,” he finally mumbled, his voice weaker now. Gone was the calm exterior he always wore. This new skin seemed fragile.

But you couldn’t fathom that right now. The only thing you felt was this deep feeling of anger, disappointment . . . betrayal even. “Understand you?” you couldn’t help but sneer. “You just told me I’m a burden.”

Yoongi furrowed his brows. “You’re not listening to me.”

He was right. You were beyond trying to hear him out. Your anger controlled you now. “Did you ever even care about me or were you faking that, too?” you questioned, the words coming out slow yet hostile.

And all Yoongi could do was stare at you, but his eyes gave him away. They narrowed and twisted, emotions swirling on his face as he took in your words. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe you would even suggest such a thing . . . like him not caring about you was this preposterous thing.

You weren’t sure anymore how out there the idea was now.

“Watch your mouth,” was all Yoongi could manage through gritted teeth.

But you didn’t care. You let the bottle containing your anger break as you yelled, “You once said you liked me for being reckless!”

“You said it yourself. We’re both different now.”

You squinted your eyes at his sheepish behavior. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“You haven’t really known me for a long time now,” Yoongi muttered, his voice quiet. “You and I both know that.”

A scoff left your lips as you shook your head. “You really think we’ve drifted that much apart?”

“I know we have,” he confessed. “You do, too.”

And you did. You had just never wanted to admit it, even now.

“If we have, then I hope you know that’s on you, not me,” you reiterated. “I may have changed, but I’ve stayed true to myself. You haven’t. The Yoongi I knew growing up would never just settle. He would fight. He wouldn’t give up. That Yoongi . . . that’s the Yoongi I—” you cut yourself off, realizing what you were about to admit. Even now, you couldn’t tell him. Instead, you went on, skipping over the feelings for him that you had bottled up. “That Yoongi was the friend I’ve been trying so hard to cling onto over the years, but I think, along the way as you changed, we both lost him. He’s gone now. All I see now is someone compensating for a crap personal life, by settling for a shitty career and—”

But Yoongi cut you off. “Crap—Crap personal life?” he spat, letting his anger become the best of him. “Okay, let’s see, um: stable relationship with beautiful wife, lots in common, and a great circle of friends, possibly a kid on the way in the near future, and a steady fucking career that I earned by going to college instead of wasting my twenties on a stupid dream that would have gotten me nowhere! That shit doesn't last, you know? You can get gig after gig and have your name plastered everywhere but it won't last forever! Nothing ever does!”

There it was. The confession you had been looking for. He thought you were wasting your life on this dream. That was the real reason you and him hadn’t been close for years now. He didn’t believe in you anymore. Somewhere along the years, he’d stopped supporting you, and you knew this, but you had never wanted to admit it. You never thought you’d have to come to terms with it . . . until right now . . . until he admitted it to your face.

He didn’t believe in you.

Not anymore.

And that was enough to convince you to finally walk away.

Without looking at him, you nodded your head a few times, digesting his words before you silently took a step back. That was when it seemed to dawn on Yoongi that he had just majorly fucked up, as he tried to reach out to grab your arm.

“Kid, come on, I—”

But you were faster, tearing your arm out of his grasp. “You said what you wanted.”

You watched in silence as he dropped his hand, accepting defeat. But, neither of you moved as if time was keeping you both stuck to that damned makeshift basketball court. How long would you leave each other there, quietly waiting for the other to say the words the two of you truly wanted to hear?

Well . . . it wouldn't be you.

In that moment, you had decided one thing: you had to truly let him go. There was no way you could live a life loving him, supporting him when he wouldn’t even think of doing the same. You had already decided to take the job in Busan a few days ago . . . but now . . . now you were certain. In the new year, you’d move to Busan and leave your old life behind. You had to.

Then, you found yourself confessing this discovery out loud. “I’m moving to Busan in the new year.”

Your words made the air grow cold. You glanced up to meet Yoongi’s gaze then, discovering that he was staring at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. And if you had looked a little closer, you’d see the disbelief and hurt ( . . . ? ) locked behind his eyes. But you hadn’t looked closer, and you never knew that this confession had ripped through Yoongi’s skin like a thousand cuts.

“I got an offer from an agent,” you went on, bitterness on your tongue. “That’s why I called that night . . . but seeing how you really feel, I’m glad I didn’t tell you. It’s a four-year contract. I’ll stay in Busan for the duration, working with other artists and such. It’ll put me on the map . . . internationally, but who knows . . . maybe I’m just wasting my twenties for a stupid dream. We’ll see, right?”

He choked out your name, trailing off with no snarky remark to follow your announcement.

But you didn’t stop to accommodate how he would feel. You just kept talking. “My train will leave at three on the second if you want to say goodbye.”

And with that, you turned to head for the door so you could finally head back to your apartment, but as you stuck your hand in your pocket, something stopped you.

There in the pocket of your jeans was the paper ring that you had made for him ages ago. Recently, you had been keeping it on you, convinced it gave you good luck. But now . . . now there was no point. What was the purpose of keeping it anyway?

So, you did something for yourself that night and pulled out the withered paper ring, turning to face Yoongi. You grabbed his hand, realizing you’d miss the warmth of his skin when you’d leave, but you ignored that and quickly pried his hand open so you could place the ring in his palm.

“Here—” you released the paper ring into his hand, but didn’t back away— “you told me to give this to you again when I turned twenty-five. Something tells me we won’t be seeing each other after this, so . . . “ Your words trailed off as you slowly closed his fingers around the withered ring. “I made it for you. It’s yours. Keep it.”

And then . . . you left.

When the new year came, you stood awaiting the train that would take you toward your unknown future. You’d bid farewell to your parents and Seokjin. Saying goodbye to Hari, Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon was hard, but saying goodbye to Hoseok was a little easier because that was just who he was: trying to make heavy situations a little lighter.

You hadn’t seen Yoongi since that night. You didn’t call him or text. You didn’t even ask where he was. You just let it be, but as the train approached, you still had hope he’d show up at the last minute.

You waited as long as you could. The train would be taking off soon. You knew this, but you still waited, holding out hope.

But he never came.

He wasn’t coming.

And you were forced to board the train without saying goodbye to the one person that had got you this far. The doors closed behind you, severing the bond you still held to this place; to your home; to him.

He hadn’t come.

Yoongi hadn’t come to say goodbye.

The train began to move, you sat with your head resting against the window as you watched the world pass by, all of your memories being left behind.

This time it was you who moved on, while Min Yoongi stood stagnant right where you left him.

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